


A Caricature of Love

by StopLookingHere



Series: Fifty Two Levihan Fanfictions in Fifty Two Weeks [14]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Other, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6518863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopLookingHere/pseuds/StopLookingHere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>14/52: from a villains perspective.</p><p>Sometimes, the enemy is in your head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Caricature of Love

**Author's Note:**

> I need to slap a trigger warning on this because holy shit, trigger warning.

I watch you deteriorate. Or, not really deteriorate, more like bend to my whims as I see fit. The deterioration is merely a side effect of my game, but it doesn’t matter too much to me. You’ll survive, though; I like you. My friend over here really likes you too, but they won’t touch you. They’re too busy with that man you spend your time with. They enjoy toying with him at a more fine level, tuning him like a radio station with bad reception. What’s even more interesting is how you two are still together. How you too like each other more than I like you. It’s strange. I want it to stop.

I made you furious when you went to that godforsaken doctor and learned I was here. You were almost comical, really. The bathroom mirror turned into glitter and there was blood between the remaining cracks, a fine artistic masterpiece. My friend laughed so hard that they cried, guiding that man you call a brand of blue jeans to where you were, just making it even better. His first sign of resistance was when he bandaged your fist, sweeping up the shards and resigning to buying a new mirror.

You didn’t learn my name until you’d done a heavy amount of time in front of that screen of yours. Then, you saw that doctor again.  First, he choked me. I almost went to sleep, but I’m pretty sure I’d have had nightmares if I went to sleep like that. You almost went to sleep too, so that blue-jean boy made you go back.

My friend was so happy when I returned, throwing a party. That blue jean boy screamed at you for the most miniscule things, the toilet paper on “backwards” sending you to tears. But you, flighty you, sent those tears right back at him. Then, flighty you did the most stupid thing: you apologized. What did you apologize for? Me. My existence. I’m disgusted, ashamed of you.

You both went to a support group one day, in a building that smelled like harsh antiseptic and impersonality. You narked about my fun with you, calling it “hell” and being told by those “supportive” people that I was mean, rude, selfish. They said it wasn’t your fault. I want it to be your fault. Don’t you know already, that fighting is futile?  

I love you. Don’t you love me too?

 


End file.
